


A Flame in Two Cupped Hands

by xenokattz



Category: Man of Steel (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But not a coffee shop AU, Coffee Shops, F/M, My tumblr friends are enablers, hot for teacher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-28 19:52:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenokattz/pseuds/xenokattz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six years and two thousand coffee cups separated Lois and Clark's first real hello and last real good-bye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Black as the devil, pure as an angel

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this fantastic gif set + AU idea](http://striplingwarriors.tumblr.com/post/62914960705/man-of-steel-coffee-shop-romcom-au-flirting) (the first paragraph is pretty much lifted from the AU description) as well as prompts from Celticbabe & Since1938. Who are TERRIBLE. But also WONDERFUL. Headcanon: MoS!Clark with trauma surgery/first aid background is from [igrewupinkansas](http://igrewupinkansas.tumblr.com/post/57347002686/a-very-lovely-anon-asked-me-why-i-like-man-of-steel-and).
> 
> Another set of thanks to Since1938 for the beta.

_Metropolis, not that long ago_

Flirting with the new waiter at her usual café was quickly becoming a favourite past time for Lois. She couldn't help it; he was six-feet-some-odd inches of absolute adorableness (rather than utterly terrifying considering the muscle on him) and every time she made a half-smart comment about his seemingly endless supply of flannel shirts or the rural twang of his accent, he'd duck his head and let that toothpaste smile of his escape before sassing her right back.

"Hey, Canada called," she yelled from the doorway. "They're short one lumberjack and were wondering if you'd be up for the job."

Clark-- who the hell named their kid Clark these days?!-- dipped his chin down, half-hiding behind the till, but Lois could still see the tips of his ears go bright pink. "I'd best call 'em back and give them your name, Ms Lane, seeing as how they'd hear you holler 'timber' five miles out."

"Are you saying I have a big mouth?"

"Nothing of the sort, ma'am. My mama taught me better than that. Will you be having your usual diesel then?"

Lois leaned a hip on the counter beside his current customer. Her trusty travel mug went beside the till. "That's right and don't you dare dilute it with cream or those fancy-ass syrups."

"I could surprise you," said Clark. "Maybe sneak a little something in there. I bet I could guess what you'd like."

Half the café patrons swooned. A gaggle of teenagers waiting for the order burst into giggles. Clark smiled at the customer in front of Lois, passing him change, a muffin, and a sincere wish for a nice day. The pink in his ears had spread below his collar.

"Would you really, now? Them's fighting words." The tip of Lois' tongue snuck to one corner of her mouth, a flirtatious, yet some-what nervous tic she tried very hard to lose.

At this moment, she didn't really care much because Clark's gaze seemed glued to her mouth. "I don't want to fight you, Ms Lane."

"What, exactly, would you prefer to do with me?" Lois rested her chin on her hand, leaning full forward on the counter now. If there was some grumbling in the line behind her, she could not give a rat's shiny shit; she had Clark attention at full blush, from his curly hairline to the square tips of his fingers as he passed her a bag of her usual maple-dipped doughnut holes.

Clark licked his lips. The corners of his mouth fought a grin. He scribbled her order on a post-it note and stuck it on her travel mug. "I'll have your order right up, Ms Lane."

What a tease! Lois, God help her, flicked her hair back. "Thanks a million, Clarkie."

One of the doughnut holes was half-way to Lois mouth before she saw the note scribbled on the pastry bag. "I get off at 4. Pulled pork, cherry pie & highballs at Ace O' Clubs at 5?" Under those two sentences was his phone number.

"Extra-large medium roast for Lois!" yelled the barista manning the coffee machines.

Lois grabbed her travel mug off the counter. Beside it was a shot glass brimming with pale amber liquid and a candied violet on top. She took a sniff of the shot glass. Whisky. He just offered to Irish-up her morning coffee. Lois let out a laugh, making Clark duck his head again.

Strolling back up to the till, she said, "You are fucking adorable," grabbed his arm and wrote her number inside his wrist with a pen snatched from beside the tip jar. 

He probably had a full-body blush now and, wow, that mental image was so appealing Lois had no idea how she was going to make it to five in the evening without seeing for herself.

* * * * *

The massive art deco clock standing guard over the foyer of the Daily Planet ticked to 4:47 in the afternoon. The receptionist holding fort at the front desk tried to stop Lois with flailing arms as he yelled, "Wait, Ms Lane, Mr White said you can'tleaveyetMsLane!"

Lois beat him out the revolving doors, one hand raised in a wave as she disappeared into the beginnings of rush hour. To be honest, Metropolis always moved at rush-hour speed and Lois liked that just fine. She held her notebook and pen as she marched to the Ace O' Clubs, her messenger bag almost an afterthought for all that it held the essentials to life-- wallet, travel coffee mug, keys, cell phone, audio recorder. Pieces of her current story wedged around each other in her head. She could almost make sense of it all but she didn't have several important threads and without them, her piece would be all speculation and, thus, no better than tabloid fodder.

The Ace O' Clubs was a dive early in Lois' college days. Situated on the border of Southside, rather dramatically known as Suicide Slum, the pub used to attract people who were pretty much broke but still wanted a beer and non-shitty live music. The bar was trying to gentrify these days along with the rest of Southside but the decades-deep knife gouges on the pillars and grizzly regulars would require total demolition to hide, something the city didn't want due to the heritage buildings in the area. Lois wrote the article for the preservation of the early twentieth century architecture in Southside when Macedon Incorporated wanted to raze the whole place down to make luxury condos. She liked her character buildings and lower cost housing over chrome and glass billionaire penthouses, thank you very much, Macedon Inc. Even if it meant her old dive bar had to change to accommodate yuppies.

Lois slid into a booth on the same wall as the front windows but tucked away in the corner so she could see everyone who came in and out as well as get the best light. She checked her phone. Clark hadn't called yet. That was all right; 5:02 wasn't technically late to anyone who didn't grow up in a military household. She opened her notebook to scribble some thoughts.

Forty-five minutes later, the server came and went four times, twice with beer, and Clark still hadn't made an appearance. He didn't even call. Lois had been ditched before but she hadn't expected someone as supposedly genuine and sweet as Clark to do that. Slapping her notebook closed, she yanked her bag back over her shoulder and left the pub.

Almost halfway back to her apartment, her phone rang. She answered it without looking at the number. "Lois Lane."

"Lois, I'm so, so sorry," Clark said. "I was tied up with something and couldn't get to my phone. I feel terrible."

"Hey, you're not the first inconsiderate asshole I've met and you won't be the last," said Lois. "Don't worry, I'll still tip you according to the strength of the drip coffee in the morning."

"I don't care about that. I'm _really_ sorry, Lois. Is there any way we can reschedule?"

 _Not damn likely._ "I'm going to be busy the next couple of days," she began.

"I'm a block away from Ace O' Clubs. I can meet you there. Or anywhere you want, really."

Lois pursed her lips Her ovaries warred with her better judgement: On the one hand, she wanted to climb Clark like a tree, but on the other hand, if his best foot forward was dickhead, the rest of the date boded ill. She had no way of knowing which character trait was dominant.

On the other side of the line, Clark sighed at her silence. "All right, I understand. I really am sorry for standing you up, Ms Lane. I hope you have a good evening."

Lois glared at her phone after he hung up. _She_ was the one who sat in a pub for almost an hour waiting for a phone call from a freaking barista! Why did she feel like the tool who'd just kicked a puppy when he should be the one who was sorry?

Except he _did_ say he was sorry. And, dammit, he sounded like he meant it. Lois took pride in her ability to read people and even over the phone, she sensed Clark's sincerity. And she really, _really_ wanted to climb him like a tree. With her eyes half closed, Lois scrolled to Clark's number.

"There's a Chinese place on Durance and Aldergrove called Hon's," she said without waiting for his greeting. "I'll be there in five minutes. I won't wait for you longer than ten."

Hon's Wonton House served twelve pages worth of the best Cantonese dishes in the Greater Metropolis Region. Having visited Hong Kong three times, Lois vouched for its authenticity as well. The restaurant didn't bother with décor when it could concentrate on quality ingredients. Easily wiped plastic gingham covered picnic tables and caféteria-style chairs. Around this time, the place was packed. The dining area easily seated two hundred customers. Lois, and possibly Clark if he made it, would make Diners 201 and 202. She had a hand on the door to enter when Clark rounded the corner of the block at a sprint. Despite herself, she smiled.

Clark stopped a foot away from her, leaned his hands on his knees, and took in a few gulping breaths before straightening up. Lordy, he was tall. Lois craned her head up to look him in the eye even with the polite distance between them.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," she replied.

"Can I apologize again? And also thank you for giving me another chance although I think I'll blow it again once you see my futile attempts with chopsticks."

"Not that I think I should be on the top of everyone's priority list, but what was so important that you couldn't call to tell me you'd be late?" asked Lois. "I would've waited."

Pink stained Clark's cheekbones again. Lois wondered how he managed to grow into adulthood with skin that thin, literally and figuratively. "I was... it's actually kind of... embarrassing really." He rubbed his nape. A curl fell over his forehead and Lois had to make a fist to keep from brushing it away. Not in the first five minutes of a date.

"We've got time. That's what you're supposed to do during dates: talk about possibly embarrassing experiences."

A server led them to a table in the middle of the floor, squeezed between two extended families apparently both celebrating birthdays and a table of college kids shovelling food in their mouths as they argued Persian literature. 

"Well?" asked Lois.

"I helped with an apartment on fire do you think they still serve congee?" Clark said, his words blurring together.

"Did you say you helped with an apartment fire?"

The pink on his cheeks deepened to tomato red as did his ears and, with his sleeves rolled up, Lois saw the blush spreading to his forearms. He nodded, his eyes glued to the menu. At the same time, his entire body stilled, energy coiled in his muscles, like he was ready to bolt the second she shouted "boo."

"Why would you help with an apartment fire?" Lois asked.

"I'm... I have... training. Trauma training," he said.

Lois stayed silent, willing him to continue.

"I'm kind of training as a combat medic," said Clark.

"Don't you have to be in the army for that?"

"I am. Entered Basic a couple years after high school and I've gone on two tours. I'm on leave right now." He brushed his hair back, grinning half to himself at the texture of his hair which undoubtedly felt strange after almost four years in a buzz cut.

"If you're in the army, what are you doing pouring out coffee for persnickety yuppies like me?" Lois asked.

He shrugged. "It's kind of complica--" Then he laughed at himself. "No, it's not complicated. It's a pretty common story actually. I enlisted because I wanted to make a difference and because they'd pay for college. You don't get a lot of scholarships or educational savings as a farmer-- that's what my parents are, farmers out in Kansas-- and I didn't want my mom working a second job at Sears like she has been the last few years just to make ends meet. I'm a big guy. I've always been pretty strong. I thought I could help people who really needed protecting. But... but it doesn't really work out that cleanly over there."

Clark's hands crawled over his paper napkin, tracing its embossed jacquard pattern. The space between his eyebrows furrowed. "It's not even just the... I mean, you're constantly on the edge even when you're having fun and there's this... You learn to like the locals, to love them really, especially the kids, but you know they're playing both sides of the fight out of sheer self-preservation and you can't even blame them because the political climate is so volatile, they can only afford to think in forty-eight hour increments. You go in to protect a hospital for three weeks then a couple days after you cycle out, it's bombed to bits. So I thought maybe if I trained as a medic, it wouldn't be so bad but the more I think about going back, the more I..."

He closed his mouth with an audible clack. "I'm sorry. That's too much, isn't it? I'm really making a mess of tonight."

Lois shook her head. "My dad's a three-star general. I get it. Besides, I'm the one who asked. You haven't exactly answered 'apartment on fire' though."

"I was in the immediate area and I knew first aid," said Clark. "Once you respond, you can't leave until the ambulance or firefighters arrive and even then, I thought I should stay until I was sure everyone had things handled."

"So not only do you make a ridiculous cup of coffee, you're a knight in shining armour," Lois teased.

"Nothing like that," said Clark. "I just want to help."

The server returned and they gave their orders: dandan noodles for Lois, braised tofu with black bean and eggplant casserole for Clark.

"So, how was your day?" he asked.

"Nothing as exciting as running into an apartment building on fire," Lois drawled just for the enjoyment of seeing Clark's blush return. "I filled-in for one of the long-contract writers who's 'sick', AKA, tits up in an alcoholic stupor. Except I had to write his article using his notes which are ridiculous. He was writing about the changeover to separate garbage collection for organic and recyclable wastes, not the second Watergate. There was no need to encrypt his notes unless there's some kind of clandestine connection between current councilmen and garbage collectors, outside of the city paying them to pick up-- oh my God, that's it!"

"It is?"

Lois flipped to a page in her notebooks. "The company that has the contract for the new garbage pick-ups is called Argead. I couldn't figure out why the name sounded familiar until I remembered Macedon Inc's bid for the Southside renos and I realised Argead and Macedon are both related to--"

"Alexander the Great," Clark said at the same time she did. When Lois arched her eyebrows in his direction, he turtled a little into his flannel shirt. "I like to read."

"I guess Alexander the Great's campaigns are pretty much breakfast food in military theory."

"It was but I knew about him because of Aristotle." Lois eyed him again, waiting for an explanation. "I went through a metaphysics stage in high school. Y'know, the whole potentiality and actuality of being, and how it relates with matter and form of all life as it currently exists."

"Absolutely. I went through that phase, too. After Backstreet Boys but before Morcheeba."

Their food arrived, providing Clark something else to hide behind. "You're teasing me again, Ms Lane."

"You're a Midwestern farmer who reads ethical philosophy for fun and joined the army to become a medic. You're lucky I'm not dissecting you."

"Aren't you?" He smiled, one of the first full-on grins she'd seen tonight. "So, Argead, Macedon Inc. and Alexander the Great."

"Alexander. Alexander 'Lex' Luthor who owns LexCorp. The bastard probably thinks he's Alexander the Great's second coming." Lois scratched out a few arrows on her notes, took a slurp of her noodles, and wrote some more. "I thought my co-worker was just being a paranoid asshat but he might actually be onto something. No wonder he was guarding it with his life. This is the first story he's written in a decade that doesn't suck."

"But you're writing it," Clark pointed out.

"Hey, if he didn't trip into a keg every other week, he'd've figured this connection out sooner and Argead wouldn't have gotten the contract. LexCorp's trying to own everything in Metropolis and this is just another way for the company to gain monopoly."

"Alcoholism is a disease, Lois."

Lois snapped her book closed. "Agreed but I'll save my empathy if or when this story can effectively stonewall LexCorp's slimy fingers crawling into my city. Noodles?" She tilted her bowl towards him.

Clark shook his head. "No, thank you. You look like you're enjoying it too much."

"Not a big fan of spicy food, huh?"

"I like it just fine, Lois. I'm vegetarian."

Lois threw her hands up. "What _are_ you?"

He flinched. Lois narrowed her eyes. That was a pretty big flinch. That kind of flinch spoke of some deep damage and Lois wanted to know all about it. This was why she never had a long-term relationship. She read people too well and, for some reason, liked to poke where it hurt.

When Clark spoke again, his smile was gone and his tone quieted. "I eat meat if there's nothing else or I'm at someone else's home and they don't know, I just--" 

"I didn't mean that the way it sounded," said Lois. "Eat whatever the hell you want; who the hell cares? Don't ever let them fuck with you. You're a unique and beautiful snowflake."

Clark gave up on fumbling with his chopsticks and picked up a fork. "Now I don't know if you're teasing me or patting me on the head."

"Can't I do both?" She nudged his calf with the tip of her toe.

* * * * *

The rest of dinner shifted to lighter topics. Lois found herself going on and on about Harry Potter when she discovered Clark had never read the series. He swore to borrow the first novel the very next day. This segued into the "sufficiently advanced science is magic" argument which led to Stephen Hawking's latest attempt to explain quantum physics in layman speech (they were both still pretty confused) which then led to the decor in Clark's childhood room (the ceiling had glow in the dark stars) then to Lois' latest fracas covering society news (she was banned from that desk which suited her just fine). Between stealing food off each other's plate (Clark finally capitulated to Lois' urgings and tried the noodles drenched in beef broth) and heading back out into the street, they covered feminism in classical Hollywood movies, current technology inspired by Star Trek, favourite Disney films, and coffee. Meeting a busker on the way to Centennial Park changed the conversation to music.

"Just when I thought you broke the mold, you tell me you like country music," said Lois.

"I like some country music," said Clark. "Mostly, I like folk. Any singer-songwriter, really. I like lyrics."

"Lyrics, schmirycks, if music can affect you emotionally regardless of language, it's good. Like electronica or dance."

Clark made a face. Lois slapped his arm.

"I just can't connect with thunkathunka-screechscreech the same way I can with..." He looked upward for inspiration. "Okay, with something like 'I will climb the rise at daybreak. I will kiss the sky at noon. Raise my yearning voice at midnight to my mother in the moon.'"

Lois counted out her points with a raised hand. "First of all, I hope whoever wrote that song is an actual Native American instead of a white guy appropriating cultural imagery for cool points. Secondly, I didn't just mean dance and electronica; I also like instrumentals and classical music. Third, you can invoke the same emotions with just instruments and you don't need to speak English to do it. English is a dumb language anyway; why limit yourself?"

"This coming from a professional writer?"

"It's _because_ I'm a professional writer that I understand the limitations of words. If you can make a piece of music, play it in one country in every continent occupied by people, and elicit a visceral response from each person who hears it, then it's a great song. Period."

They stopped at the southeastern entrance into Centennial Park, the leaves on the maples above them filtering light from the streetlamps into speckles on the sidewalk. Even with fall darkening the skyline early, people filled the brick walkways and grass knolls of the park. Deeper inside, a salsa band played with enough gusto to reach their ears.

"My place is that way." Lois started to point but found the fingers of her right hand tangled up in Clark's. She had no idea how long they'd been holding hands. She wasn't even a hand-holding type of person.

"I'm over there," Clark pointed back the way they came.

"So now you have to walk all the way back. You should've said something."

"I liked the conversation too much."

Dusk and city lights washed Clark's complexion in a yellow tinge but Lois knew he had to be blushing again. She rose up on tip toe to kiss the corner of his jaw.

"You're adorable," she said.

"That's my second adorable from you," he said. "At least I'm being consistent."

"The least I can do is offer you some coffee before you trek back. Of course, it's nothing like what you make at the café."

"You don't have to."

"I insist." She tugged his hand, not that he fought too hard.

Unlike the past two hours-- had she really spent more than two hours with Clark?-- the walk to her apartment was silent. Their cupped hands swung in soft, short arcs between their bodies. His thumb occasionally traced circles around the first knuckle of her index finger; she occasionally stroked the inside of his wrist. Her pulse thudded in the hollow of her throat, like the first few seconds looking out on a helo-jump. Another pulse between her legs thumped away with as much insistence. When an aggressive cyclist nearly rammed into Lois' elbow, Clark tugged her closer to the buildings and she used the movement to circle her arm around his waist. He felt like a brick wall under her hand, slabs of muscle barely restrained by cotton and skin. He hovered his arm around her back for a few seconds before resting it on her shoulder.

She let go his waist at the bottom of the stairs to her brownstone but she trailed her fingers across the small of his back before catching his hand up again. His breath stuttered. She led him up the four flights of stairs to her second-floor apartment and as soon as she closed the door behind them, Lois pressed her body up against Clark's for the full-on, filthy sex kiss she'd been wanting to lay on him that first day she saw him and his stupidly attractive flannel shirts in that café.

Clark let out a little broken sound as his arms wrapped around her. He lifted her up like she weighed nothing. She teased his mouth open wider with a little nip to his lower lip. When he gasped, she slipped her tongue in a little deeper, feeling the ridges of his mouth and the softness of his own tongue. He tasted like the tea they drank at Hon's and earthy, like mushrooms and sweat. His beard rubbed heat onto her cheeks; she'd have a blush to match his.

"I'm on the pill but do you have protection?" Lois whispered after licking her way to his ear.

Clark pulled back, his eyes wide and unfocussed. "P-protection for-- oh. Oh! We're... not having coffee?"

"You can make me some in the morning."

"Oh." He gulped then blinked a few times. "I, uh, I didn't think we were going to... to do this. Tonight, I mean. Or ever. I mean, I've dreamed of you doing-- not that I think about you all the time! I mean, I do but not like that. I mean, _like_ that but not disrespectfully like _that._ To be honest, I kind of feel like I'm still dreaming."

Twirling the curls at his nape around her fingers, Lois asked, "Do you want me?"

Clark nodded. "You're so smart and determined. It makes you so beautiful, even _more_ beautiful than you already are.. And you have this smile that... when you come in the morning and direct that smile my way, it makes my whole day."

"I don't smile in the morning," said Lois. "I hate mornings. That's why I need really good coffee. I smile because I see you."

Clark smoothed the back of one hand across her cheek. Lois' eyes fluttered closed. She leaned into the caress, her head tilting to the left as she looped her arms around his neck. Cupping her jaw with the same hand, he pressed feather-kisses along her ear and hairline and cheek. Lois rolled her body against him and he made that little hitch-breath-broken-gut sound again; she was starting to really love that sound. 

When she surged up to kiss him properly, he tangled his fingers into her hair and really went for it this time. Lois raised her knees high to wrap around his waist both to help him with her weight and to get some really good traction to rub up against-- there! Just like that! Lois arched her neck and keened. Clark trailed his kisses down her throat, the burn of his whiskers trailing behind his mouth.

She was so hot for him, she could go right now, to hell with the rest of the foreplay. Clark was pretty ready, too, according to the bulge in his pants that she'd been rubbing up against. Leaning back a bit, Lois slid a hand between them to cup him properly. But he let out louder noise, bucking away from her hand instead of towards. She stopped, studying his clenched eyes and the tension hitching his shoulders up. He didn't look like he was enjoying himself any more. Gently, she let her legs slip back down on the floor. Clark's eyes stayed shut, his entire body trying to squeeze into a smaller space.

Lois kissed his cheek. "Okay?"

Although he finally opened his eyes, they were downcast, and he nodded into her hair. "I'm sorry. I really want to. I'm sorry."

"Tell me what do to, baby." She kissed his other cheek. "Tell me what you like."

"I liked everything. Lois, you could stand there fully dressed, just breathing, and I'd still be like this." He gestured to himself. "I'm afraid of hurting you."

Lois smiled, hoping he'd do the same. Squeezing his biceps-- which were pretty damn impressive-- she said, "You've got some decent guns but I'm a tough girl. I can take anything you hash out."

It almost worked. He almost smiled but he rubbed it out on the nook made by her neck and shoulder. "I told you I've always been strong. I didn't... I'm really strong, Lois."

"Okay, you're Hercules, I don't understand what the problem--"

Clark walked to the middle of her (tiny) living room and lifted her couch over his head with as much effort as she would have used lifting a stapler. "I can do this with cars. Trucks. Fallen trees. Trucks with fallen trees. I tried with a tank in Basic and didn't break a sweat. When I was eight, I lost my temper and threw one of the barn doors a quarter mile out."

She'd bet he tried to never lose his temper since. Lois chewed on the inside of her cheek as she watched him put the couch down. By his curled in posture and the way he avoided her eyes, she guessed he expected fear or rejection. And, fair enough, if her first impression of him had been him bench-pressing tanks, she might have felt a little afraid but there was nothing, absolutely _nothing_ in Clark that was even remotely scary unless she had a phobia against wet-eyed Labradoodles.

Lois went to his side. "Clark, honey, sit down."

He lowered himself to the couch, gaze still glued to his shoes. She braced her hands on his shoulders and clambered on top of his lap, her knees framing either side of his hips. Clark's head shot up at that, his expression that of a man saved last minute from death row. 

"I'm not afraid of you, Clark." She brushed either side of his face with her hands. "You're wonderful. Who you are and what you can do is wonderful."

His Adam's apple bobbed and he closed his eyes briefly. His tongue came out to wet his lips as he dared to cup her hips, his thumbs sliding under the beltline of her slacks. Lois slid forward to press her entire torso against his.

"What would you be comfortable with?" she asked. "We can just do this, just kiss and touch over clothes. Or we can touch under clothes but never take it off. We can have all our clothes off but not actually do the deed. Whatever you want, baby, I'm okay with it."

Every sentence she spoke seemed to make him hotter. His pupils were blown so wide, the irises were just rims of bright blue around them. His cheeks and forehead glowed pink. "I'm not sure. I've never done this before."

"Never had sex?" Lois teased.

His neck went red.

Lois' jaw almost dropped but she clenched her teeth together. No use in making him more uncomfortable. "Give me some hints here. Third base? Second?"

"Which base is French kissing?"

Holy wow. "First."

Clark's lips twitched. "Well, as of tonight, I've gone to first with one eye out for the possibility of second."

"But you're hot!" said Lois. "You're... you're ridiculously hot. You must have had plenty of opportunities."

He started to roll his shoulders in again but Lois pushed them-- rather he let her push them-- back against the couch. "No one wanted me back in Smallville. I went to bars a few times during training or when I was OTCONUS but it wasn't really my scene. I just... I've always thought I should have my first kiss with someone who really meant a lot to me, not just because I needed to mark some sort of notch."

She couldn't parse what he might mean by that. She didn't want to. Not right now. So Lois smacked his shoulder instead. "Clark, are you saying I'm your first kiss?"

Now his smile returned, full force and sweet as spring. "Yes."

She hit him again. "You are... why would... I don't even know your last name."

"Oh. It's Kent. Clark Joseph Kent."

Sticking her hand out, she said, "Lois Joanne Lane."

"Pleased to have kissed you, Lois Joanne Lane." He shook her hand then used the hold to draw her closer. "I'm glad you were my first kiss, Lois Joanne Lane. It was the best ever."

* * * * *

For someone who'd never even gone to first base six hours ago, Clark was a natural. He was a freaking savant. Moaning, barely able to keep a grip on his sweat-slicked shoulders, Lois arched back and rolled against his groin. She was so wet, it was a miracle she didn't slide off him. Clark had his mouth fastened on one of her breasts while he rolled the nipple on the other. Lois pulled that hand away so she could slip it under her panties. His fingers, think and blunt, poked artlessly around the folds and dips of her groin. She soaked his hands in seconds.

Lois pulled his face up for a kiss. "Taste me," she said, tugging on his ear with her teeth.

"What do you mean?"

She pulled out his hand and pressed it against his mouth. Clark's entire body shivered. He opened his mouth and sucked on his fingers, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

"Like it?"

He nodded.

"Want to learn how to do that to me?"

He nodded more vigorously.

Lois rose off his lap and turned to her bedroom. She still held Clark's hand. She didn't think they stopped holding hands since Centennial Park. As he stood, he tugged on his pants which had been shoved to mid-thigh. Lois didn't think he'd need them anymore but he was the skittish one in this relationsh-- _encounter_.

Lois left the bedside lamp on; it lit the room sufficiently for what she wanted to do. He helped her turn the covers down on the bed then placed the pillows with fancy shams on top of the dresser. Lois crawled onto the bed, relieved she wore half-decent underwear today. They didn't have holes anyway. When she looked over her shoulder, Clark was still standing, rubbing his sweaty hands on his jeans. She rolled her panties down to her knees, then flicked them off with a kick. She turned over, half-sitting, half-lying on the remaining pillows. Clark was a sight to behold. The lighting only emphasized his physique: slabs of muscle so defined he could be used as an anatomical study guide, a light dusting of dark hair on his chest trailing down his stomach and under his beltline, delicious dark hollows at his hips and collarbone and neck. A droplet of sweat trickled out of that notch at the base of his throat and meandered between his pecs only to get caught by the dark whorls there. Lois mouth watered. She wanted to taste that first.

"Take off your pants, Clark."

Clark moistened his lips, bending forward to do as she commanded. But he folded his jeans instead of throwing them to one side, placing them on the dresser beside the pillows. His dick poked out of his briefs. Now that he was up close and personal, Lois registered the size of him. He was certainly... proportional. Slightly longer than what she thought was average and thick. She didn't think she'd be able to wrap her fingers around him, he was that thick. However, she was all sorts of wet now, a state only emphasized by fact that, wow, yes, the blush went through his entire body. His hands clenched and hovered around his front.

"You can touch yourself if you want," said Lois.

He let out a little moan. His right hand fell limp at his side while his left gripped his erection at the head. Oh yeah. That was doing it for her. "Can I... do you want me to..." He made a curt circling motion around the tip.

"Whatever you want. As long as you're paying attention." Lois spread her legs slowly, _very_ porn star but she had a captive and appreciative audience so she did not give a single nanogram of a fuck. Unlike Clark, she was right-handed. She started off rubbing herself, the way she'd been starting a lot of nights in the two months since Clark first poured her a cup of coffee.

Midway through, just as her muscles began to tense and the shivers deep inside her made their way up her body, Lois felt the bed dip with extra weight. She hadn't even noticed her eyes closing. Clark sat at the foot of the bed, the covers fisted in his hands. His erection stood rather obscenely between his crossed legs.

"I was going to finish," he said. "I didn't want to without you."

"Were you paying attention?"

He grinned. "Lois, _your_ apartment could be falling around us in a fire and I wouldn't be able to keep my eyes away."

She crooked a finger at him. He crawled closer. Lois took his right hand and guided it between her thighs, guided two of those lovely blunt, thick fingers into her. "Finish us together."

Clark inhaled deeply. "Oh my God, Lois." He curled his fingers experimentally, making her arch up.

Lois massaged his shoulders and the back of his neck, leaning forward to kiss him for a while and calm his nerves. She whispered little corrections and encouragements against his cheek while he muttered a lot of highly improbable but very flattering compliments towards her and her body and her brain and her sexual prowess. He was pretty amazing. Best virgin ever. Her college frat party date had absolutely nothing on Clark.

Pretty soon, she couldn't think any more outside of "yes, yes, yes, now, now, there, now, yes," and her knees had locked around his waist, her toes curled and her breasts felt positively engorged with sensitivity as she rubbed them against the hairs whorled on Clark's chest. She clamped her teeth on his shoulder, her hips dying to move, move, move, so close, move and she hit his wrist at exactly the right time when his fingers curled toward her pubic bone, and Lois exploded into the most delicious orgasm. Every body part south of her navel spasmed and she could only cling to Clark and wail. She felt like she was falling-- wait, she _was_ falling, with Clark falling on top of her on the bed, choking on his own orgasm. His come stained her belly and thighs, warm and sticky.

He weighed as much as an elephant but Lois held Clark anyway. His shudders shook her bones. His breath heated her chest. His damp curls stuck to her cheek and neck. Lois brushed one of the curls away, the one hanging over his forehead, and kissed the shadows from his face.


	2. Hot as hell, sweet as love

_Metropolis, right now_

The massive art deco clock standing guard over the foyer of the Daily Planet ticked to 9:07 in the morning. The receptionist, bless his dear heart, still hadn't learned after all these years that no amount of flailing would stop Lois from going where she wanted to. "Wait, Ms Lane, Mr White said you can'tgoupthereMsLane!"

Lois tapped her foot the whole way up to the City and National floor. The floor cleared a path for her almost as soon as the elevator doors opened. She might as well have a ripping case of anthrax and five pounds of C4 strapped to her chest with the way people were acting. The exception to the rule was Steve Lombard because Lombard thought he was the exception to every rule ever written.

"You better watch out, Lois!" He hopped off his desk, grinning. "Security told Perry you're here against orders and he can't wait to rip you a new one."

Lois flipped him the bird without breaking stride. She did stop short of slamming Perry's door open. While her supposed suspension was utter bullshit, she still respected the EiC enough to hold back on the intimidation tactics. Besides, he'd taught her most of them. 

Perry preferred to have his office close to the action instead of the editorial level three floors up. The board of directors preferred to give the EiC an office with an ostentatious show of power. The compromise was a five-hundred square foot office with a curved glass wall on the same floor as the City and National desks. From his desk, he could see down the wider central hallway between the DP work pods; behind his desk the city sprawled under his feet. Not bad for a college drop-out currently on several government watch lists.

"Leave," Perry said as soon as Lois put one foot inside his office. "Leave now."

"You can't actually be serious about this."

"Lois, you're lucky I negotiated the board down to unpaid leave. They wanted you fired and blacklisted from writing anything heavier than pop-up ads."

"The great Perry White is going to roll over and let corporate dictate the news." Lois crossed her arms.

Perry steepled his fingers. "When you make it to my age-- _if_ you make it to my age and I'm beginning to seriously doubt you have the self-preservation to do so-- you'll understand how to pick your battles."

"You back off once, they're gonna keep pushing. I don't give up ground."

"This time, you do," said Perry. "It's a small story, Lois. Peanuts compared to what you'd find if you'd kept this one a little closer to your chest. But no, you let Woodbern shotgun it all over the net."

"I don't think the individuals affected in this story can be ignored just because they're not white and not American."

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

"I don't care that I could blow a bigger case open; those people need their story told now!"

"And I'm telling you, even with two Pulitzer nominations and a Kerth under your belt, there's no chance in hell it would have ever seen print. Not on this paper. Not the way you wrote it." Perry gave her a look. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Lois pursed her lips. She understood all right. "Fine."

* * * * *

Her former college roommate, Tobey Raines, suggested the journalism professor gig on the third w(h)ine and cheese night after Lois' enforced leave.

"You're climbing the walls so bad, I see nail marks on the ceiling," said Tobey.

"Me? Teach? I'd be the worst at it," Lois said. "I don't have patience for bullshit like that."

"Which is why you'd be great for seminars. Instead of the usual handholding, you'll give them exactly what they're gonna get in a real newsroom. Look, you only have to show up in class once every two or three weeks. You send out an assignment, they hand in the work-in-progress online, you grade the piece at the end of the year. It's like being an editor."

"I don't want to be an editor."

"But you want to be paid," Tobey pointed out. "I don't know how much of a budget the DP gives their reporters but I know you couldn't've gone on all those out-of-town interviews without dipping into your personal funds."

Lois flipped Tobey the finger yet somehow found herself agreeing to a proposal City University of Metropolis send months ago for their journalism department. She only wanted to teach for a semester and only the one class so she'd still have time to work but the dean accepted nevertheless. Her name still meant something despite the backroom corporate handjobs going on to cut her career short. 

The first day of class... happened. The dimly lit auditorium seemed overkill for a small grad class but it was the only room available at this time and besides, she'd only hold four live classes the whole term. On the one hand, the students in the Investigative Reporting Seminar seemed confident, driven, and eager to put their best foot forward. On the other hand, they were also arrogant, obsessive, and positive they had nothing left to learn. Lois remembered being twenty-five and thinking she officially ruled the world. Then she remembered she was only on the lighter side of thirty. _Then_ she needed to know when Tobey was available for another w(h)ine and cheese night because how did she hit the cynical side of thirty without some sort of glaring warning sign?

Lois dropped her head in her hands and tried to massage away the pinching between her eyes. A gust of air lifted the hairs on her forearms. She felt the kiss on her nape the same time she smelled cedar and ozone.

She swivelled her chair around, unable to stop her grin or her wide-open arms. "Clark, you're back!"

His embrace lifted her out of her chair and he nuzzled her neck while she sank into the warm, safe place of his body. The cable knit of his sweater tickled her nose with its salty-smoke of the docks but Lois couldn't care less because Clark was back and he was whispering the many ways he missed her as his hands did their best to gauge the changes in her body between now and his last visit.

"You didn't tell me you were coming," said Lois between kisses all over the left side of his face.

"I wanted to surprise you," Clark said. He returned her kisses with one to her temple. "Plus I wasn't sure I'd actually be able to return before Christmas. I didn't want to break a promise."

Lois wondered what the reaction of her pod partners would be if they saw her, esteemed professor of journalism, wrapped around Clark like a monkey climbing a tree. She wondered if she cared. The answer, after another life-affirming kiss, was no, she didn't care what they thought of her but she _did_ want to keep this job if only for this intake.

"So you went to the Planet, found out I was persona non grata, and kept your ear to the ground until you found me?" Lois tapped his ear, indicating exactly what she meant by the phrase.

"Something like that," said Clark. "Actually, there's another reason why I wanted to keep this visit a surprise. I've decided to finish my degree. Here. In Metropolis."

Wow. Lois had to remember to breathe. Okay, holy wow. Clark had three-quarters of an arts degree thanks to the combination of army and correspondence courses but finishing his bachelors meant staying in one place for at least four months. Staying in _Metropolis_ for at least four months. The longest they'd been together in the same place was a two-week vacation on the Delmarva shore (They both wanted isolation but while Lois leaned towards the tropics, Clark insisted on paying half, and she didn't want to strain his bank account even though he said it would have been worth it). So. Four months. That was... a lot of weeks.

Clark must have sensed her trepidation. He leaned back, his brow lightly furrowed. "Good surprise or bad surprise?"

"Good surprise." Lois said. "Very good surprise. I'm just not sure you'll think so after a couple weeks living with me."

Clark's slow grin, the one accompanied by the deepening of his accent and thus never failed to make her insides squish, made an appearance. "Miss Lane, are you asking me to move in with you?"

"Kent, if you dare live anywhere farther than across the hall from me now that you're going to make Metropolis your home base, I'm going to hurt you. I don't know how yet but I'll find a way and I'll do it. Slowly. With relish. I may take up smoking again afterward just because it would be that good. It's more the--" Lois flapped her hands a bit-- "everyday mechanics of living together that worries me. Y'know-- you like to wake up with the sparrows, I like to stay up with the owls; you shop at farmers' markets, I think Cup o' Noodle is a food group; I can finish the entire business section when I take a shit, your farts smell like rainbows--"

"I'm a journalism major, you're my professor," Clark added.

Lois' jaw dropped.

"Sorry for missing the first day of class. I actually went to office hours to see if my seat was still available considering I didn't sign in."

Lois may have twitched.

"In my defense, I signed up for the class before I knew you were teaching it," he said. "My name's been on the class list for a month now. And you never told me you were going to take up teaching while you were on leave. The last I heard, you planned to stay in a vanilla-and-citrus bubble bath until you turned into a giant pink prune. Which you figured would take at least a week. Our, uh, conversation kind of turned after that."

Yeah, their conversations tended to do that. Even so, Clark's addition to her list of concerns was what kept Lois frontal lobe from firing. Clark loosened his hold from circling her shoulders to barely skimming her wrists.

"Lois, say something. Please?"

"I didn't know you were going to major in Journalism," was what came out.

"It was your idea."

"I know but I didn't know you were going to major _here._ "

"I sent in applications all over the east coast. I accepted this one because I thought you wanted us to--" His shoulders started to turtle and Lois could absolutely hit herself. Or him. She opted to hit him.

"Stop that. The bubble-bath conversation was--" Shoes shuffled in the hallway behind the pod walls. Someone coughed two pods away. This was not the time or the place for this kind of conversation. Clark apparently agreed; he stepped away, leaving only his hand lightly cupping hers.

"We can continue this conversation later. Office hours are until four, right?" He shook his syllabus.

Lois groaned, dropping into her chair to adopt the same pose she'd had before he whooshed in. "I'm a dirty old cougar."

Clark grinned as he made a biting motion, his perfect teeth clacking together. Adorkable. Damn him. She threw at pen roughly in the direction of his head but he dodged it and it hit the wall outside the pod instead. 

Another student leaned cautiously around the pod divider, her eyes wide as she took in the pen on the floor and the size of Clark inside the office. "Uh, I can come back later?"

"I'm good," said Clark.

"And I expect promptness from now on, Kent," Lois said, taking the student's misunderstanding for the life-saver that it was.

Clark hunched his shoulders and shuffled his feet. "Yes, ma'am, Ms Lane, ma'am." When he passed by the student, he sliced his index finger across his neck, teeth bared, eyebrows to his hairline. Lois contemplated throwing another pencil at him but they were the nice wooden ones she liked to chew on, not the mechanical type which always broke on her. So she hucked a Sharpie over the wall instead.

"Ow," said Clark, rubbing his curls as he walked to the main doors.

"You'll find I always meet, or even exceed, my deadlines, Ms Lane," said the other journalism student.

* * * * *

Rich tomato-based stew goodness wafted over Lois when she entered her apartment. Clark looked over his shoulder as he drained pasta over the sink, a little clumsily with the potholders around his hands. No matter how much she told him that he didn't need to pretend around her, he insisted on acting human with daily chores so he wouldn't fall out of the habit in public. Lois toed off her shoes and hung them on the appropriate cubby in the hallway closet. She threw her jacket on a bare wall hook then padded to the bedroom to throw her purse behind the door.

She knew she had mini baguettes somewhere-- there, still wrapped in plastic in the pantry. Clark shuffled further from the stove as she reached in front of his waist to get the bread knife. He'd already taken a stick of butter out of the fridge to soften; Clark also handed her a couple garlic cloves sliced in half. She rubbed all four baguettes with garlic because God only knew when he ate last then slathered them with butter before throwing them into the oven. She ventured into the pantry again, this time to take out a bottle of cabernet sauvignon. He took the proffered bottle, poured half into the stew, then took two wine glasses out so they could enjoy the remaining wine while cooking.

Clark looked right in her kitchen. That sounded kind of mid-century. He looked right in her _apartment_ , his solid frame fitted well somehow with the Moroccan mosaic backsplash and the black leather of the Barcelona chairs. At some point, one of his mother's quilts made its way over the arm of the rough-weave couch and his books took up at least a third of the space in the navy blue shelves lining one of her walls. Two of the three pairs of shoes he owned stood beside her three racks of footwear. His "Metropolis" coat and scarf had their own hooks on the wall.

"I may need animal sacrifice for this conversation," Lois said after a sip.

"You can have your leftover lamb kebabs with this lentil bolognese," said Clark. He poured the pasta into the bubbling stew pot, stirring, unnaturally focussed on the contents of the damn stew.

Lois cupped her wine in both hands. She hadn't planned for her one-week stand to become a long-term, long-distance relationship; she'd always thought she'd be too busy for the commitment required for a real boyfriend. She'd wanted to focus her energies on writing the next great investigative piece, not pander to fragile egos after she'd been out too long without calling. But staying in contact with Clark had been too easy even through two years in the army before he got discharged, four years after that when he travelled in and out of Metropolis between odd jobs around the world, and seven of her undercover stings, five of which required near-blackout on communication. Like he fit in her apartment, talking with Clark fit into Lois' life as easily as breathing.

He turned off the stove and braced his hands on the countertop. "I don't have to live here," he began.

"I _want_ you to live with me."

He shrugged and continued to stir.

Lois yanked his sleeve. "Look at me."

He rested the ladle on a plate beside the stove-- she didn't remember buying that plate, it must be one of his-- turned and crossed his arms. She crossed hers also because, dammit, he learned that pose from her. They glared at each other for a whole minute. Clark sighed first.

"I'm not going to leave just because you turn into a mad dog when you're in the middle of an investigation," he said.

"And I'm not going to leave if you discover yet another ability," she retorted. "The fucking bomb blast of clothes after you take a shower is another story though. You have superspeed; I have a laundry hamper. It's not that difficult."

"Lifelong self-defense lessons don't mean you should run into war zones just to be the first to get the story," said Clark. "I'm the one who's bulletproof, not you. Your worth isn't tied to the number of awards on your mantle."

"That's not why I do it!"

He arched his eyebrows at her.

Lois jabbed his sternum with her finger. "Oh, and I suppose gallivanting around the world 'finding yourself' isn't about self-worth either."

"I'm trying to find out who I am."

"I _know_ who you are, Clark Joseph Kent. You're an intelligent, kind, funny, sexy man--"

"Alien," he corrected.

Lois poked him again and to hell with how much her finger hurt. "A _person_ who writes so well, I feel like I'm in the story with you, feeling what you feel, and seeing every person's thoughts. You can make friends with everyone and even though you have less patience with bullies, you give them a chance to change. You run into buildings on fire for kittens and I wish that was a punchline to a joke. You do all these amazing things for other people because you feel some sort of, I don't know, guilt? Obligation? But at the same time, you're so ashamed of having those abilities, you don't let anyone see you while you do them."

"People aren't ready to face a world with aliens."

"I'm people. Your parents are people. Just fucking--" Lois slapped his chest. Clark caught her hand up in his and kissed her palms where the skin had reddened. 

"You honest to God watch the sunrises and you would every day if you had the time," she continued. "You love your goddamn mother. I don't get along with mine even when she's not drinking. I hate my dad even though everyone says I'm his clone; or maybe because I'm his clone. When you start working-- and I know someone will snatch you up in a second if the Planet is stupid enough to turn your application down-- your pieces are going to change the world. And I'm going to try to crush you at every opportunity because I'm that kind of competitive, workaholic maniac and I can't help--"

"Lois, I love you."

She lifted her other hand possibly to push him away or maybe poke his chest again but he caught her hand and brought it to his lips.

"I fell for you the second time I ever poured your coffee. I've loved you since you watched me lift your sofa and told me you weren't afraid."

Lois closed her eyes against the ache in her chest. She bit her lip so her breath wouldn't come out ragged.

"You're amazing and you know it, and I love you so much, the word 'love' seems inadequate." Clark let out a soft laugh. "Just like you said: English is a stupid language."

All right, that was simply enough of that. She couldn't take any more. She couldn't without bleeding all over the floor, the wrecked pieces of her insides gone out and squishy where she couldn't protect them. Lois wrapped both arms around Clark's neck and wrapped both legs around his waist, shoving her mouth against his because her tongue down his throat had always been an excellent strategy to shut herself up. He curled one arm under her, his other hand spread wide at the back of her head to angle their kiss just so. They jostled until the back of Clark's thighs hit the dining table. The wine, forgotten in Lois' hand, splashed over his shoulder. Lois moued, then leaned forward, grabbing handfuls of Clark's shirt so she could pull it over his head and lick at the wine trickling down his chest. It was really good cab sauv. Also, she knew from experience that red wine and Clark were a great pairing.

He started tasting like ozone a couple years ago when he learned to jump into cloud cover. He said he sometimes felt like if he leapt hard enough, he could fly. There was an eagerness in his eyes when he talked about flying, an expression he didn't seem to have with the rest of his abilities. Lois loved that acceptance. She loved the rain-and-electricity sensation against her tongue when she lapped at his chest. She loved the actual heat emanating from his body when he held her like he did now, stumbling back into the couch, his impossibly soft, wide hands cupping her body like she was a precious delicate thing. She loved how much she wanted him even seconds after they just hammered through the mattress and she loved spooning with him just as much.

Goddammit, Lois Lane actually fell in love with someone and that someone was five years younger, two decades more naïve, and a student in her stupid journalism seminar whose biological parents were literally from outer space.

"I can feel you thinking," Clark murmured into her hair.

"If the board at the Planet finds out my boyfriend is in my class, they're going to cite all kinds of ethics laws and sic lawyers at me," said Lois.

"I could drop out."

"The hell you are. The shortlist for that course is only forty people out of seven hundred applicants. I can give the class to someone else."

He shook his head. He slid his hands under her shirt, easily unhooking her bra, then worked his way around her front to massage her breasts. "The class forum is giddy with excitement about apprenticing to you. You'd be a good teacher, Lois. You'd affect the kind of change in journalism we've been talking about."

Lois sipped at the remaining wine left in her glass. She leaned to one side to place it on a side table and Clark took that opportunity to lick at the skin bared by the movement. She curled around him and he trailed open-mouth kisses across her belly and down, nudging at her pants. She shifted her legs to one side so he could pull her pants off. He removed her underwear at the same time and if there was anything sexier than Clark's ability to carry her literally one-handed, she hadn't discovered it yet. He lifted her legs up over his shoulders, carrying the rest of her weight in his forearms. When he nuzzled her thighs, she remembered the feel of his beard. Clean-shaven, Clark looked even younger. Even more innocent.

"I miss you the moment you leave the room," she said, knotting his hair around her fingers. "As soon as I can't see your face. Whether you're on the other side of the wall or the other side of an ocean. Isn't that stupid?"

"Oh, Lois." He pressed a kiss right at the peak of her mons, close-mouthed, sweet, like a kiss on the cheek after a first date in high school.

Lois' eyes prickled. She kept them open to dry out. "I feel this kind of... hollow ache. Right under my ribs. And I worry that this time, this one particular time when I can't see you, is the time when you could get hurt. And I won't be there to help you."

Clark let her legs fall to his sides and gathered her up in his arms but she couldn't handle even more sweetness from him right now so she clamped her knees around him and ground into his groin. He moaned, his hips jerking up. She grabbed his curls with both hands and pushed him towards her breasts but he didn't quite get the message or he chose to ignore it because instead of a good, hard suck, he laved them with soft licks from base to aureole, stroking one while kissing the other.

He was going to break her. This sweet, adorkable man was going to break every single wall Lois built to protect herself and the damnedest thing was, she'd given him the key. And also, he made her mix her metaphors which was in the top five of Professor Lane's list of unforgivable writing sins.

"Oh my God, you're my student!"

Clark buried his laugh in her hip. "Are you still not over that?"

"The difference between twenty-nine and thirty-five is already worse than twenty-three and twenty-nine but with that added position of power, it's--"

"Completely meaningless."

"-- turned into this kinky hot-for-teacher thing and the girl who came after you also called me ma'am, so thanks a lot for that. I'll just go and get my bifocals from the quilting bee then feed the ducks in Centennial Park."

He lifted her up to a seated position, their torsos pressed against each other. The roughness of his chest did absolutely glorious things to her breasts. "Are you going to give me extra credit for cooking you dinner?"

Lois narrowed her eyes at him.

"Will you administer the paddle if I don't satisfy you?"

"Thin lines, Kent. Very thin lines."

He blew across the tendon stretch taut from her jaw to her shoulder. "Want to... polish my apple?"

She whacked the nearest throw pillow on his face. "You are a dead man, Smallville!" He laughed as he went down, arms barely raised to cover his face. Lois kneeled on his stomach and slammed the pillow as hard as she could over his head until the seams ripped and foam pellets rained down on them. Then she grabbed another pillow and proceeded to do it again.

* * * * *

Two exploded pillows, a coma-inducing amount of carbs, and four brain-melting orgasms later, Lois draped herself across Clark's chest. He had one hand in her hair, weaving his fingers through and pulling strands up across his face. His other hand was on her ass because he could be _such_ a man, human or alien. She followed the line of a vein under his skin until it disappeared between his upper arm muscles. His deep, slow breaths ruffled her bangs but she knew he was listening to her rant.

"Then Perry comes back to me with an obvious line from upstairs about how I was paid to focus on hard-hitting local news not throw the paper's already tight budget on personal trips out of the continent to pursue vendettas. First of all, I couldn't daytrip to Poughkeepsie on the budget they gave me. Secondly, I consider it local news because the people responsible are based here in Metropolis. I just need more time to fish them out."

"Maybe that's why Perry didn't want it published yet," said Clark.

"Then he should've said so." Lois twisted around to fit a bit more comfortably in his arms. "He _would_ have said so. No, the board's trying to gag the paper quietly which can't be good. They usually like to throw around their power with things like this."

"You said his exact words were ' There's no chance in hell it'll ever see print. Not on this paper.'" 

"Which is why I accidentally on purpose leaked it to Woodbern. Not me. Not the DP."

"And they suspended you." He switched from combing her hair to smoothing it down her back. "You always talk about leaving anyway."

"Of course I do. I have itchy feet. But the Planet is one of the last bastions of accurate, thorough, unbiased news reporting. Even armchair bloggers reference us. I want to stay-- I need to stay-- because of that."

He pressed a kiss to her temple. "Lois Lane, saving the world one impeccably pointed article at a time."

"Damn straight."

He kissed her again.

"Your turn to talk. Tell me something beautiful."

"Lois Lane is my girlfriend."

She scratched at his belly. "Sap. Also, I'm too old be anyone's girlfriend."

"Well, as much as I like the word 'lover,' everyone will take that to mean our relationship is based on sex," said Clark. 

"English is stupid."

He hummed in agreement and moved her hand up a little higher to scratch closer to his ribs. "The Simien mountains are amazing. When the clouds cover the base, the plateaus look like islands floating in the sky."

"Laputa."

"Maybe. More Miyazaki than Swift and even then, it's not a good comparison. The air's different, thick with oxygen and... this is going to sound silly but even the sun felt thicker."

"You were at a higher altitude."

"I know and maybe that had something to do with it but I felt the difference. Not a burn, not the way you or Mom described a sunburn, just... more energetic. Radiation crawled under my skin and it was so powerful, I felt like I could take a step off a cliff and walk to the next peak. There's this satisfying stillness up there almost like you can hear the Earth take breaths."

" _You_ probably could."

"You would, too, Lois. Mist rises out of the trees and curl into the clouds, creating them. When they move through the valleys, you see more of the forest and it's like seeing branched alveoli in the lungs. Then there's more mist and more clouds and the Earth breathes in again. It's beautiful. Next time, I'll take you."

Privately, Lois thought she'd go crazy with boredom. She could rough it camping but she didn't like to. But maybe the experience would be different with Clark there. Maybe his enthusiasm about nature would rub off on her.

He slid both hands to rest high on her back. He told her once he could feel her heart beating when he held her like this, palms wide on her shoulder blades, her chest pressed against his. And that the combination of tactile and aural input helped him focus when his heightened senses threatened to overwhelm his system. He had such a good handle on them usually. Unless he was tired. Unless he was stressed.

"The lead didn't pan out," she translated.

She felt him shrug. "The Orthodox Christians in Ethiopia have apparently been making rock cathedrals earlier and in more places than first thought. That carved meteorite fragment in Addis Ababa was one of theirs. Not alien."

"What if you're human but a science experiment?" Lois proposed. "You look and function so much like us. Considering the rareness of intelligent life as we know it, what're the chances two species from completely different star systems would evolve in the exact same way?"

"Obviously not so exact or I wouldn't be able to do the things I do," said Clark. "I thought maybe time-travel."

"Highly evolved humans sending a baby back in time by itself? I know human beings are assholes but that's pretty cold even for us."

"Not all assholes."

Lois wriggled her hips under his hand.

Clark swatted her lightly. "Very funny."

Humour aside, she knew how much the trip meant to him. Rising up on her elbow, she looked him in the eye and said, softly, "I'm sorry."

He kissed her chin and when he leaned back down onto his pillow, his smile had a sad flavour. She slid up to bump his nose with hers, her nipples frissonning against the rough hairs on his chest. Framing his face with her hands, she smoothed her thumbs on his cheeks, over his lips, down his chin, across his brow. He held still for the caresses, his breaths deep and slow, drawing beads of sweat into the hollows of her throat. His hands were still on the backs of her thighs; he hardened under her leg. She kissed him and he shuddered under her lips, his pants roughened in the back of his throat.

Clark didn't sweat; not usually. But when they made love, his skin took a salty-cinnamon flavour and a sheen that wasn't quite moisture coated his torso. Lois nipped at the tendons taut on his neck. He shivered and rolled them both over so he arched over her, kissing her, his knee pressed against her folds. She soaked him, rubbing her clit against the boniest part of his leg. She traced the valleys and angles of his back, revelling in the play of his muscles, like steel made malleable under her hands.

When he rose up to his knees, she clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders and her legs locked around his waist. She slid down to his lap, leaving a wet trail down his stomach. He shuddered, his hips jerking up against her thighs and slit and butt, his hands wandering to her breasts, then her thighs, then played with the slickness inside her while he sucked on her neck and collarbones and nipples and the skin inside her elbows. He couldn't stop moving now that they'd begun again. Lois dragged his mouth to hers. She twisted her hands around his curls to keep him there.

He always filled her slowly, always so cautious, and she imagined she must feel like filigree crystal to him. She moaned at the stretch as she sank down onto him. He let out a growled breath against her shoulder, then, holding her in place, sank back on his knees, pulling out almost all the way. Lois wriggled and tried to pull him back with her legs despite knowing better. She was still kissing him. He thrust up into her again and she cried out against his mouth, pleasure arching through her from the core out to her fingertips. He did it again and again and again and Lois could only hang on for dear life as he hit just the right spot every goddamn time and, holy shit, he'd come a long way from the blushing part-time barista who'd never even copped a feel.

"I love you, too, you know."

He paused. Leaning back, he seemed to study her sincerity. She flicked the tip of his nose.

Slowly, tremulously, he smiled. She circled her hips as she sank down on him again. He wrapped his arms more fully around her, pulling her close, creating friction between them with every rise and fall. Cinnamon-sweat shone on his upper lip. She licked it off then pressed her tongue into his mouth, offering him a taste of himself. Heat and electricity crackled deep between her thighs, spreading outward, pins and needles to her toes, delicious tension to her shoulders. He panted against her ear, his teeth barely scraping too-sensitive skin.

"I love you. So much."

"Love you ah God love you love you love--"

The rhythm of Clark's thrusts disintegrated. One of them was keening raggedly and Lois couldn't figure out if it was her or him but she didn't care because there, right there, the whole world collapsed into deliciousness and starbursts, and how could everything be fluffy mush and sharp ecstasy at the same time, she didn't know or care because Clark, God _damn_ , Clark--

His breath was hot against her temple, his hand sweltered entwined with hers. Lois closed her eyes and slept in the hearth of his arms.


	3. Epilogue: You enter it as easily as breathing in

_Metropolis, a while later_

Lois pounded away on her keyboard, rushing to file a story, one of many she had stored up in the four months of actual hell that was journalism school. To think she used to gripe about being a student. It was nothing compared to teaching. Next time she and Tobey got together, she was going to punch her dear friend in the face. On top of all of that, Perry suggested she do a six-month stint embedded in a military unit outside Umec. With Clark equally busy freelancing international articles while tracking down the strongest lead yet about his heritage, Lois was ready to throw her computer out the window. 

"Come on, Lois, when are you gonna throw me a bone?" Lombard slid along her desk to perch on the corner, just far away enough to deny sexual harassment claims especially if Lois chose to stab his thigh with a pen. "I've got courtside seats to Generals versus Lakers tonight. What do you say?"

She kept on typing, not bothering to waste energy looking away from her monitor. "Go back to trolling the intern pool. You'll have better luck. Maybe."

Lombard gave Jenny, Perry's intern, an assessing leer. Jenny rolled her eyes and walked away. Lois smirked. Perry didn't choose idiots to be his interns.

Speaking of the devil, Perry strode through the bullpen. Competence and integrity trailed behind him as well as a tall man in an ill-fitting sports jacket awkwardly rolling a bicycle alongside, as though he wasn't quite sure where to park it in the office or even if he was supposed to.

Perry stopped in front of Lois' desk. "Lombard, Lane. This is Clark Kent, our new stringer. I was hoping you could show him the ropes."

Lois stood. "Kent. You wrote the articles we published last year on Kobe Asuru's assassination. They were half-decent."

"I prefer to think of them as articles on political reform," said Clark. "And thanks, although the credit should go to my grad school instructor."

Oooh, he'd get payback for that. The grin playing at the corners of his mouth told her he knew exactly how she'd demand payback. Lois stuck her hand out. "Welcome to the Planet."

"I'm very glad to be here, Lois." He took her hand.

They didn't let go.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "[Variation on the Word _Sleep._](http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/variation-on-the-word-sleep/)" Yes, again. Shut up, I love this poem.
> 
> [Kimmie](http://kimmiecoo.tumblr.com/) made a gif for the scene where Lois gives Clark a second chance! WHEEEEEEEE!  
> 


End file.
